


Make the Date

by Pandrien



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandrien/pseuds/Pandrien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage paperboy Alfred who hits early-twenties Arthur with the paper accidentally and Arthur yells at him but then it becomes a game to Alfred and he aims for Arthur’s head and eventually they start talking and go on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make the Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whymsical-for-you](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=whymsical-for-you).



      Alfred F. Jones considered himself one of the luckier teenagers in Midland. While other teens in the city had summer jobs that involved flipping burgers for hours on end or dealing with annoying customers, Alfred delivered newspapers. Sure, a few of his friends thought it was lame, but he enjoyed the job so he didn’t let it get to him.  


      All he had to do was get home from school, grab the newspapers that were left in a plastic bag on his front porch, and deliver them to the specified houses. It even came with a few perks, like when he bumped into old Mrs. Dwyer while delivering and she offered him whatever fresh, warm baked goods she had just made, or on hotter days  


      Alfred had never had a single problem with the job until July 2nd. He had been biking along his delivery route, whistling along with the song he was listening to, headphones in and tossing newspapers to the houses they were to be delivered to, stopping when he heard a shout. When he stopped his bike and pulled his headphones out, he saw the source of the yell was a man with straw blond hair and bright forest green eyes holding his head and glaring at him.  


      Hopping off the bike, Alfred kicked up the kickstand and jogged over to the man, shoving his iPhone in his jacket pocket.  


      “Yo dude, are you okay? I heard you shout.” He asked, holding a hand out to the man.  


      “I was fine until you hit me with the fucking newspaper and shattered my teacup!” The man yelled back, slapping Alfred’s hand away from him.  


      Looking down, Alfred saw the man was right. There was a shattered cup on the sidewalk between them with the plastic-wrapped newspaper Alfred had tossed sitting atop the mess, plastic damp with whatever had been in the man’s cup.  


      “Oh crap, dude I am so sorry! I can buy you a new cup if you want, since I broke this one.” Alfred apologized, worried the man would report him.  


      “I would rather you stop assaulting people with newspapers.” The man growled back.  


      Huffing, Alfred turned away from the man and headed back to his bike, concern for the man gone. Luckily, the man let him be, instead bending down to pick up the newspaper, shake it dry, and head back into his house.  


      Alfred continued with the rest of his route without thinking about the man again, popping his headphones back in and whistling along once more.  


      He didn’t think about the man again until the next day when he was delivering again and saw the man step outside of his house. Smirking, Alfred sped up on his bike and once he was close, he threw the newspaper, watching it soar through the air before smacking the man right in the forehead. The man looked up in shock but the second he laid eyes on Alfred, he glared, raising his fist and looking as if he was about to start yelling, which motivated Alfred to speed up and bike past, laughing all the while.  


      The next few weeks passed in the same manner, with Alfred deliberately trying to hit the man and the man always angry when Alfred managed to get him. Things changed when Alfred was speeding up so he could throw the newspaper at the man, as per usual, when a cat ran right in front of his bike. Alfred pulled on the brakes and threw out his foot to stop himself, causing his ankle to get hit by the bike pedal and for the bike to skid down the road sideways, with Alfred stuck on it. When it finally stopped, the first thing he noticed was that everything hurt. The second was that he had landed right at the end of the driveway of the man he usually threw the papers at.  


      Groaning, Alfred rolled his head to the side to see the man jogging over to where he lay, a worried expression on his face. When the man got close enough, he knelt down and leaned over Alfred, looking him over quickly before looking him in the eye.  


      “Are you okay?” The man asked, eyebrows furrowed in what Alfred assumed was concentration.  


      “Fuck, it hurts.” Alfred whined, turning his head the other way to see the white and orange cat sitting on the other side of the street. “Fucking cat.”  


      “What hurts? How many fingers am I holding up?” The man asked, holding a hand in front of Alfred’s face.  


      “Gaah, 4? I don’t know. Where are my glasses?” He asked, looking around for them before seeing them crushed under his bike’s front tire. “Oh fuck, my parents are going to _kill_ me.” He groaned, closing his eyes.  


      “How about you come with me and we’ll call them to come get you. I don’t think you’re in any state to bike home.” The man said, sliding a hand under Alfred’s shoulders and helping him up.  


      “I’m fine, I’m fine. I can get home fine by myself. I just gotta get up and make sure my bike’s okay.” Alfred grumbled, groaning when sitting up rewarded him with a bigger headache and a wave of dizziness that made him feel like he was going to puke.  


      “You’re in no condition to get yourself home. It looks like you knocked your head pretty hard, and you’re pretty scraped up. Just come inside with me, we’ll call your parent, and I can get you patched up and see how bad the damage is.”  


      “What are you, a doctor?” Alfred mumbled, letting himself be helped up and led to the man’s front door.  


      “No, I’m the nurse you’ve been assaulting with newspapers for the past three weeks.”  


      When they made it inside the house, Alfred was too dizzy and in pain to really notice anything except how soft the couch was and how nauseated he was.  


      “I think I’m going to puke.” He groaned, curling his arms around his stomach as he flopped on his side on the couch the man had deposited him on.  


      “Here’s a bucket just in case. Let me grab my phone and then I can call your parents for you.” The man said, handing Alfred a large bowl and walking out of the room.  


      When he returned, he sat on the floor in Alfred’s line of sight holding a phone and what looked like a first aid kit.  


      “Alright, what’s your parent’s phone number? Or the phone number of whoever’s responsible for you.”  


      After rattling off his mom’s number to the man and listening half-heartedly to the man explain what happened to his mom, he blinked up at the man, watching as he opened the first aid kit and pulled out multiple sets of bandages.  


      “I talked to your mother and she says she gets out of work in fifteen minutes and it should take her about half an hour to drive here. It looks like you mostly sustained a few minor scrapes and bruises, but you seem to have hit your head pretty hard, so that will obviously have to be taken care of.” The man explained, pulling a pill bottle out of the kit and popping out two small red pills, handing them over to Alfred.  


      “What are these?” Alfred asked, squinting at the pills in his hand before turning to glare up at the man who handed them to him. “And why should I take them? I don’t even know you, you could be trying to kill me. You don’t know me either. Why are you helping me?”  


      Rolling his eyes, the man started cleaning and bandaging the scrapes and cuts on Alfred’s arms, ignoring the way Alfred was glaring at him.  


      “First of all _Alfred _, they’re simply ibuprofen, meant to help with the pain. And second of all, you seem to know me plenty if your constant attacks on me via newspaper are anything to go by.”__  


      “Dude, what the fuck, how do you know my name?” Alfred panicked, sitting up and scooting away.  


      Sighing, the man held up the bag that Alfred used to hold his newspapers that he was supposed to deliver.  


      “Look, your name is written on your bag. I see it every day when you bike past.”  


      “Ohhhhh,” Alfred groaned, closing his eyes and flopping back down. “That’s not fair though. I don’t know your name, but you know mine.”  


      “Arthur, Arthur Kirkland.” The man, now known as Arthur spoke, holding out a hand to Alfred to shake.  


      “Well I’m Alfred F. Jones, newspaper delivery man!” Alfred grinned, teeth shining bright and eyes aglow with enthusiasm.  


      For the next forty-five minutes, the two simply sat and talked. Arthur learned that Alfred was 18 and set to graduate in a month, along with his twin brother Matthew, and Alfred learned that Arthur was 21 and worked as a nurse at a local hospital.  


      After twenty more minutes and Arthur’s periodic checks on Alfred, Alfred’s phone dinged with a text from his mother.  


      “Uuuugh, my mom says she’s running late ‘cause there was a huge accident on the highway, so she’ll be here in an hour instead.” Alfred told Arthur, looking over to where Arthur sat with his laptop, typing away.  


      “That’s alright. I was about to order some food, I’ll just order extra. Any preferences?” Arthur asked, looking up at Alfred with a raised eyebrow.  


      “You’re a lot nicer than before.” Alfred said, blinking up at Arthur, whose face went bright red with Alfred’s statement.  


      “Probably because you have a concussion and before our interactions consisted of you assaulting me with newspapers and me yelling at you on a daily basis.” Arthur replied, rolling his eyes. “Now, what do you want to eat.”  


      “I dunno, Chinese? I like sesame chicken. Or pizza. I love pizza.” Alfred muttered, going silent for a moment after before turning to Arthur. “You’re cuter up close, and when you’re not angry.”  


      Arthur’s face reddened, hands raising from his laptop to cover his face in embarrassment.  


      “You don’t mean that; you’re concussed. I’ll order the food, we’ll eat, and when your mom picks you up, you’ll keep throwing newspapers at me as per usual.” Arthur said, staring down at his computer screen in an effort to avoid Alfred’s stare.  


      Alfred wanted to say that no, things wouldn’t go back to normal because now he realized how cute Arthur was when he was embarrassed, or how caring he was, but he didn’t know how to get the words together, so he stayed silent as Arthur typed away.  


      A little over an hour later, after the both of them had eaten their Chinese and Arthur had checked Alfred over again, there was a knock on the door. Arthur finally set his laptop aside to get up and check it, opening the door to reveal Alfred’s mother.  


      “Alfred, your mother’s here!” Arthur called into the house, turning to smile at the woman standing in the doorway.  


“Thank you so much for taking care of my son.” She said, a light smile of relief on her face.  


      “It was no problem at all.” Arthur laughed, watching as Alfred walked into the room with his newspaper bag in hand. “Just make sure he gets plenty of rest, and that he’s more careful next time.”  


      With a laugh, the woman grabbed Alfred’s arm and pulled him towards her truck, his wrecked bicycle strapped down in the truck bed. As Arthur watched the truck pull out and Alfred and his mother leave, he thought that this was when things would go back to normal.  


      The next morning, he was proven half-right, as Alfred sped down the road on his bike and threw the newspaper, hitting Arthur in the head once more. Raising his fist, Arthur yelled after Alfred, face reddening as he saw what Alfred had written in black marker on the plastic bag holding the newspaper.  


       _Thanks for fixing me up yesterday. And I meant it when I said you were cute, concussed or not. Anyway, how about a date sometime? Call Me! -Alfred (XXX)XXX-XXXX_


End file.
